


The Push

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Gibbs and Jack go undercover as a favour for Tobias. A nod to 'Casino Royale', men in tuxedos and femme fatales. Pre-Slibbs.





	The Push

**Author's Note:**

> Well, if I'm going to write the "There's Only One Bed!" trope, I've got to write the "Undercover as a Married Couple" trope, don't I? :) (JamJar98, great minds think alike, eh?) And as a James Bond fan, how could I resist putting Gibbs in a tux and Jack in a slinky dress? I couldn't, that's how. I won't bore you with Texas Hold'em rules, but will tell you that an A-K hand is called 'The Big Slick' because many novices get lured into betting big and end up losing big. The A-8 hand is called the 'Dead Man's Hand' (2 aces, 2 eights), a nod to the hand allegedly held by 'Wild Bill' Hickok before he was killed during a poker game.

A chance to help Tobias nail a drug ring? She was in.

A chance to wear that formal gown she had been saving for who knows what purpose? She’d take it.

A chance to go undercover with Gibbs and watch the man play poker in a professional setting? _In a tuxedo._ Hell, yes.

Which is how she came to be pressed between Gibbs and the wall, with his hand up her dress.

…..

For cover purposes, they agreed to check into the hotel a day early, and thirty minutes after signing the paperwork at the front desk, a soft knock came to the door. 

"Hey," Bishop said, slipping in quietly. "Brought the electronics." Glancing around the opulent room, she whistled and wondered two things. "Where's Gibbs?"

Jack encouraged her to the large balcony with a tilt of her head. "Gone to talk to Tobias about some last minute details."

The second thing- "How fast did he claim the couch?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at the bed in the adjacent room. 

Jack snorted. "In the elevator on the way up. Told him the bed was big enough for a family of four to snow angel in, but you can imagine his response." Both women looked at each other with their interpretation of The Gibbs Stare before bursting out laughing.

Bishop's mouth dropped at the view from the balcony.

"I know, right?" Jack agreed. "It's too bad- anyway."

She may have cut herself off before saying too much, but it was enough for Bishop to pick up. Jack's feelings for Gibbs was the office's worst kept secret, but hearing the near-confession made Bishop realize how hard the next 24 hours might be for her. Giving Jack's arm a squeeze, she said, "I heard you brought a _dress_." 

The way she stressed the word brought out a grin. "Did you?"

"Kasie said she brought up some case info and saw it hanging in your office." Bishop all but clapped her hands in delight. "Can I see it?"

"Sure."

They walked back inside and Bishop followed her into the bedroom, watching as Jack unzipped a black garment bag. Because the dress was also black, she couldn’t make it out until Jack had completely removed it from the bag, hooked the hanger over her finger and held it up.

Bishop gaped. Reaching for the delicate material, she sighed at the touch. “Gibbs is going to lose his mind!”

Jack’s smile faltered. “Is it wrong? Did I get the wrong dress?”

Shaking her head and grinning like a fiend, Bishop said, “Oh, no. This is absolutely the _right _dress.” She didn't miss the blush that spotted Jack's cheeks, but instead of ribbing her about it, she asked, "Is he really wearing a tuxedo?"

Before Jack could do more than point to the 2nd garment bag, the lock clicked and the door opened. Bishop waved for Jack to put the dress back and she played the buffer by meeting him in the other room. He froze with the coffee in his hands, realizing he'd only brought two. Bishop's eyebrow quirked up at the implication. Her boss, her mentor, her father-figure wasn't one to bring anyone coffee. He caught her smirk but pretended otherwise.

“You here with the wires?”

As with Jack’s blush, Bishop allowed his gruff deflection to slide by without comment. “In the case,” she said, pointing to the hardshell on the desk. She spoke as she walked towards it. “Simple camera and microphone,” she began. Pulling out the devices, she continued, “The power supply can slip into your pocket.” She glanced at Jack and grinned. “Or somewhere.” They shared a secret knowledge, much to Gibbs’ dismay. “Yours,” she went on, speaking to Jack, “is in this necklace.”

“Holy crap,” Jack whispered. “Tell me those aren’t real.”

Bishop grinned. “The onyx is fake, but the diamonds are totally real. So don’t lose them.”

Jack brushed her fingers over the simple yet exquisitely expensive piece. “No pressure.”

“You have a matching one,” she told Gibbs, picking up the lapel pin. “Just push the back like this and it’s ready to go. Earpieces do the same. The microphone’s in the jewelry, so try not to cover it up.” She held up one last item. “The bug Fornell wants on our suspect.”

“That’s tiny,” Jack said, squinting at the device.

Bishop nodded in agreement. “Simple drop ‘n’ go. We don’t need pictures just audio.” She held out her hands, her demonstration over. “Guess that’s it. We’ll set up the van first thing in the morning. The game’s after lunch?”

“Yeah,” Gibbs replied. “According to Tobias, the guy's got a 12 o’clock check-in and a gambling addiction. I’ll get there early.”

“So what are you guys going to do in the meantime?”

Jack glanced at Gibbs and shrugged, but he surprised her by having an answer at the ready.

“Figured I’d better take my ‘wife’ to dinner.”

She knew it was part of the cover, still, her heart flinched ever so slightly at the word, and it was a response that didn't go unnoticed by Bishop. Deflecting the emotional ripple, Ellie made an obvious glance towards the hidden dress then back to Jack who had caught the intentional look. 

"It's going to be amazing." When Gibbs narrowed his eyes at the cryptic comment, she quickly, “I mean, if the food is anything like this room, am I right?” She grinned at Jack’s laugh and was out the door before Gibbs’ glare burned a hole in her back.

…..

Her hands were unusually clammy and she chastised herself for her nerves. _It's just dinner_, she told herself. _You've had dinner with him a hundred times._ Her reflection looked back in the mirror. _Yeah, but you were wearing Army sweatpants and eating a steak cooked over a fireplace,_ it said. The white dress couldn't hold a candle to the black one hanging up in the bedroom, but was still stunning in its simplicity and her mouth watered at the thought of the Michelin starred restaurant downstairs. _Get it together_, she ordered, running a finger through her hair one last time. The ring on her left hand glinted in the light. _Stop it_. Another deep breath and she stepped out of the bathroom.

For all the thought she had given her appearance, she hadn't thought of his, and seeing him standing in profile, looking out the balcony doors took her breath away. She often cursed men's ability to 'clean up' by doing nothing more than shaving and putting on a suit. Gibbs was no exception; in fact, he was the poster boy for how well a man could look in a suit. Not that she hadn't seen him in one on multiple occasions, but there was just something about him, standing there all angles and edges in a suit she didn't recognize, white crisp collar separating the navy of the suit from the sky blue of his eyes. Eyes that suddenly turned to her.

"Is that suit tailored?" she asked, partly to cover her stare, partly to satisfy her curiosity. 

He knew this was a bad idea. His gut had _told_ him it was a bad idea, he ignored it and now he was paying the price. Because now, after somehow getting horse-collared into an undercover operation by Fornell, he was forced to stand 10 feet away from her yet still within the circle of whatever pull she seemed to have over him. (Though he wondered if there was a defined distance that would lessen the pull.) The knee-length white dress that he was sure she’d consider modest set off every electron in his brain and made his fingers tingle. The silver-strapped heels that put her calves on display fried whatever neurons were left. He forced his eyes up from her legs, blissfully blurred out her curves and when he went to her mouth he realized she had asked him a question.

“Yeah,” he said, his throat dry. Realizing she was expecting more, he added, “Bishop said I should look the part.”

Remembering what Bishop had said about her dress, Jack quietly filed away the young agent’s subtle manipulations to examine at a later date. For now, she appreciated what was right in front of her. “You look great.”

He seemed almost embarrassed by her compliment, and the way his eyes lifted and looked away made her saunter up to him with a flush of confidence. “Can’t wait to show you off in the dining room.”

“Sloane…”

…..

She wasn’t wrong, if the number of women who turned when they entered was anything to go by. 

He must’ve noticed, too, because he leaned close and whispered, ‘They’re lookin’ at you.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, “with daggers in their eyes.” 

He chuckled, leading her to the table, where the waiter pulled out a chair and gestured for Jack to sit. “I got this,” he dryly assured the younger man, and waited for her to take her cue.

Though she was used to his casual chivalry, being the focus of it was new. “Oh,” she said with a slight surprise in her voice. “Thank you.”

Confident she was settled, he helped her push the chair in before taking his own seat. 

“May I interest you in a drink while you look over the menu?” the waiter asked.

Gibbs tilted his head at Jack. “A nice pinot noir,” she said, taking the lead. “He’s going to want steak.”

His brow lifted, but he shrugged at the waiter. “She’s probably right.”

“As I’m sure she often is, sir.” He heard his words and smiled. “In the best possible way, of course.”

Jack smirked at the quick save. “Of course.”

“I’ll be back shortly with your wine. Please, peruse the menu. I’m more than happy to help in any way.”

Gibbs watched the waiter leave and drawled, “I bet he is.”

Jack pieced together his implication and feigned a gasp. “He’s young enough to be my son. Besides, it wouldn’t look great for our cover if I’m caught flirting with the staff, would it?”

“Would you?”

“Would I...?” She tilted her head to encourage a clarification on what she already knew he meant. 

He backpedalled under her honest gaze. “None of my business.”

“Would I flirt with the staff if we weren’t pretending to be married? No.” Her answer was quick and firm. “If I was looking, it would be for something less superficial.”

“Are you?”

His two word questions made her burst out laughing.

“Am I…?” 

This time, she was going to wait it out until he answered truthfully. Fortunately for him, the waiter returned with their wine. When the bottle was tilted towards him, Gibbs said, “Let her.”

Jack smiled. “He’s more of a whiskey man.”

The waiter nodded with approval and poured a small amount of red wine into a glass. Lifting it by the stem, Jack gently swirled it and inhaled deeply before taking a small sip. Her eyes briefly closed, savouring the moment, and Gibbs thought it might have been the sexiest thing he’d seen in years.

“This is lovely, thank you,” she said. 

“Very good.” The waiter poured two glasses and stepped back. “Is the gentleman still having the steak?”

“Rare, with whatever vegetables you have.”

He smiled. “We have a nice filet mignon I think you’ll enjoy very much. And the lady?”

“I think I’ll have the roasted salmon.”

The waiter nodded again. “Also an excellent choice. If there’s anything else, my name is Michael. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

Jack lifted her glass and took another sip. “This is very good.”

“Thought you weren’t supposed to pair red wine with fish.” Her eyebrows raised and he shrugged. “I know things."

Her lips twitched in amusement. “Do you?"

"I also know the French call it _‘filet de boeuf_’.”

She gazed at him over the glass rim. "How much would I have to pay you to speak to me in French?" 

He gazed right back, so quiet and long that she raised an eyebrow in question.

"Just wondering where you carry money in the dress."

Her laugh lit up the table. "Thought I'd just start a tab." Pleased at the smile she got in return, she said, "And it depends on the fish and how it's cooked. _Je sais des choses, aussi_." 

He blinked in surprise at the accent. "Maybe I need to start a tab."

She chuckled into her wine, enjoying the banter between them, the banter that had always been between them. She was still warmed by his playful suggestion that she was taken by surprise when he reached for her left hand.

“Special meaning?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over the ring.

“My grandmother’s,” she said of the thick gold band. “Victorian cigar band. Not her wedding ring, but the first ring my grandfather gave her.”

His thumb appreciated the feel of the ivy engraved around the gold. “It suits you.”

A blush inexplicably crept into her cheeks and she dipped her head. Finding a diversion, she reached for his left hand. “And yours?”

“Tobias gave it to me.”

Her face softened. “Awww. Have you two set a date?”

He tried to pull back his hands as a form of punishment, but she held firm. Their eyes met, the air shifted between them and she decided then and there to throw caution to the wind. If they were going to be undercover as a married couple, then she was going to play the part; her heart could be tended to later when reality came crashing back in again.

“You have the worst timing, Michael,” Gibbs said, not breaking eye contact with her.

“My apologies,” the waiter said, bearing two plates balanced precariously on one arm. “Shall I come back?”

“And let the fish get cold?” Jack asked. “I can hold his hand whenever I want. I’m starving.”

He looked at Gibbs with eyes lit with amusement. “And you, sir?”

“Would you say no to her?”

“Let me tactfully say, ‘I would not’.” He placed the plates on the table and removed the domed lids with minimal fuss. 

Jack murmured approvingly. “That looks wonderful.” 

“More wine?”

She looked up from her dish. “Yes, please.” There was something in Gibbs’ expression that piqued her curiosity, and she waited for Michael to leave before asking, “You’re not used to this, are you? The opulence.” She gestured to their surroundings.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied. “I’m with you, aren’t I?”

Narrowing her eyes, she teased, “That was smooth. I see how you got 4 women to marry you.”

Nonchalantly, he cut through his steak and asked, “Any theories on how I got 3 of them to divorce me?”

She watched him take his first bite, as if the question didn’t have the potential to open him up to scrutiny. “You really want me to analyze you?”

He shrugged. “Call it something different and I might be interested.”

“Really?” A bite of her fish gave her a moment to contemplate the opportunity. “I think you appear to be maddeningly complicated, but ultimately, you’re quite a simple man.” She ignored his raised eyebrow. “You have very defined views on the world, your job and the people in your life. You appreciate opulence, but on your own terms. This?” she said, gesturing around them again. “Not your idea of comfortable opulence. But a good whiskey? A handcrafted antique? That’s you all over.” She wondered how much she should say, but knew the value he put on honesty. “Your wives had a different idea of opulence and thought you would change once you got married. And I don’t necessarily mean fine dining or expensive wine. I mean things like a decorated Marine who doesn’t bask in the glory of the chest candy?” He smiled at the term. “Once the expectation of change isn’t met, it manifests into other parts of a relationship. Suddenly not putting down the toilet seat is the reason for a two hour screaming session. Then you become more resistant to change, and it’s a cycle that feeds on itself until it breaks down.” Taking a sip of wine, she shrugged. “Anyway. Just my professional opinion. You can add that to your tab.”

It was just like her to sprinkle humour into a serious moment, and he appreciated the deflection. “I’ll tell Payroll to just start redirectin’ my salary.”

“Is my timing still bad?” Michael reappeared with a sheepish smile and a bottle of wine.

Jack lifted her empty glass. “Not in the slightest.”

…..

They were still enjoying the aftereffects of a dark chocolate dessert paired with a good whiskey when they returned to their room. 

“Still think he was flirtin’ with you.” The card went into the key slot and Gibbs pushed open the door, stepping aside to let Jack in first.

Her laughter preceded them both. “I dunno,” she said, using his arm as a balance to remove her heels. “Did you see the way his face lit up when you complimented his choice of whiskey?”

Gibbs snorted. “He was thinking of his tip.”

The whiskey and the evening thinned her defenses, allowing her hand to come up to stoke his face. “People like you. Deal with it.” Leaving him to contemplate her words, she padded her way to the bathroom. “I’m just going to have a quick shower.”

“I’ll grab the couch.”

“Not this again,” she said in the doorway. “Gibbs, come on. We’re adults, I’m tired, and the bed is Emperor or whatever the next size is from King. I’ll have to send you a text just to talk to you.” He grumbled a concession to cover his chuckle. Pleased with the result, Jack tapped the door frame and said, “Do _not_ open that bar fridge. We’re going to bankrupt Tobias.”

Of course, he _did_ open the bar fridge, because if he was going to have to deal with the thought of sharing a bed with her, he was damn well going to punish Tobias for the pain and suffering. He’d barely made it through dinner, where she seemed to be giving the undercover role her all- the touches, the promising looks, the low laughter. When she had curled her arm around his in the elevator and pressed flush against his side, he thought he’d ground his teeth down to dust. Now, the whatever-the-hell-size-the-bed-was invited his imagination to go with the possibilities. His jaw clenched as if to hold back the very taste of her, and he flopped down on the bed with a bottle and a glass while he waited his turn for the shower.

When she said 'quick', she wasn't kidding, back before the liquid courage had a chance to kick in. He had seen her without makeup in the past- she had crashed at his place enough times for her to throw out any vanity she might have- but she never looked more stunning than she did at that moment, damp hair pulled into a ponytail, Army tank top and white pajama bottoms, approaching the bed. (Setting aside her beauty for a moment, he admitted the part about her approaching him, in bed, was the most stunning thing of it all.) He downed the rest of his drink and set the heavy glass on the bedside table.

The first thing she saw when she stepped out of the bathroom was him, sprawled on the bed in a sitting position, as close to the edge as possible, with one of the many pillows given placed in against his hip, closest to her side. Tilting her head, she asked, "Really? Why don't you just sleep with one foot touching the floor?" Not waiting for an answer, she walked around to her side, pulled the blankets back and grabbed the remote from where he had left it in the middle of the bed. 

She flicked on the sports channel like they did this all the time, like this was a regular part of their lives, like they always ended the day in bed together watching TV. He was irrationally irritated by her nonchalance, though there wasn't much he could do other than get up and have a shower. Which is what he did. 

…..

He told his reflection to man up once he ran out of droplets to count on the steamed up mirror. Running a hand through damp hair, he added his towel to the pile and opened the bathroom door… only to find her fast asleep, curled away from him, glasses still perched her nose, a magazine splayed in the space created by her curve. The normalcy of the scene twisted his gut and the thought of what could be tightened his chest. Feeding his masochist tendencies, he carefully removed her glasses then gently brushed back a strand of hair from her face. From the depths of unconsciousness, she blindly reached out to stroke his forearm, and after a murmur he couldn’t decipher, promptly went back to sleep. He watched her for the longest time before deciding he should probably do the same.

…..

It had been a long time since he woke up in a bed instead of a couch, and it was even longer since he’d woken up beside a woman. But here he was, flat on his back on a mattress that was probably a month’s wages, with a woman snug into his side, her arm flung over his chest, her right leg hooked over his knee. With her head nestled on his shoulder, the scent of her hair teased his nose and the light snore made his chest vibrate with a chuckle. It was the only slice of levity in a moment rife with complication, because this wasn’t just any woman. It was Jack.

“Take a breath, Cowboy.”

She said the words but didn’t move, wanting to memorize the feel of his shirt under her cheek, his heart under her hand, his body under hers. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move, either.

“‘Big enough to make snow angels’, she said.” His delivery was dry but his voice was laced with teasing.

“I sleep with a body pillow,” she said, ashamed of nothing. 

The confession that she slept alone pleased him in ways that surprised him. But even that couldn’t stop his need to self-sabotage.

“What’re we doin’ here?” He could feel the question run a tight cord through her body, and he silently berated himself for being a bastard.

“Just two people undercover, Gibbs.” She pulled away from him, literally and figuratively. “Wouldn’t look into it much deeper than that.” She swung her hips around and put her feet on the floor. 

He saw everything in the rigidity of her spine, the slouch of her shoulders, the downward tilt of her head. “Jack.”

She raised her hand rather than replying and held it there for several seconds, using the time to gather whatever defenses she had. “Why don’t you order room service while I use the bathroom?” she suggested, not looking in his direction. “We should probably call Tim and make sure the bugs are set up. Maybe touch base with Tobias.”

He recognized a deflection when he saw one- God knew he was a master at them himself- and he wasn’t in a position to counter it when he himself wasn’t ready to deal with whatever was going on between them. So instead, he agreed. “I’ll take care of it.”

She nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.

…..

“Oookay,” Bishop whispered, entering the room. There was an odd tension that hung in the air, but neither Jack nor Gibbs were giving any clues. Moving along, she walked over to the case she had left on the nearby desk the day before. She set her phone beside it and put Tim on speaker. 

“Hey, Boss,” the voice said through the phone. “Jack.”

“Whattya got, McGee?”

Gibbs’ question cut to the chase and Tim was right behind him. “We’ve already talked to Fornell. He’s set up and ready to go. Once we set you guys up, we’ll all be connected.”

Bishop removed the jewelry from the box and handed Jack and Gibbs the earpieces. “They both work the same- just a simple press and play,” she told them. “Same to turn it off.” She watched them follow her instructions before saying, “Tim?”

“Hear you loud and clear. Hold up the cameras?” He waited for Bishop. “Good. Looks good.”

Tobias’ voice crackled into the earpiece. “Make sure you turn it off before you go to the bathroom, wouldja, Gibbs?”

“Hope the DEA’s gonna reimburse the bill for ya, Fornell.”

It only took him a second to piece together what Gibbs meant. “You did _not_ open that bar fridge! Gibbs!”

“Gotta go,” he said. “Gotta put on a monkey suit and do the Drug Squad’s job for ‘em.” He took the earpiece out and pressed it off.

“Did he just cut me off?”

“He’s having some tech issues,” Jack said.

“Uh-huh. Well, can you please tell your husband to not take all the guy’s money right away? I want him to hang around long enough for us to I.D his contact. And that whatever Gibbs wins is government property.”

Her expression to the jibe at the end covered her pained reaction to the label Tobias gave Gibbs. “I’ll tell him. See you soon.”

“Tell me what?”

Nick announced his presence in the van by saying, “Try to be less James Bond and more…” He stumbled for the right comparison.

“And more Tobias,” Jack helpfully finished, referencing the man’s current 8 week poker night losing streak.

“I heard that!”

Jack tilted her chin at Bishop, who took the cue and turned off the microphones, but not before letting her team know she’d be out shortly.

“Raid the fridge for some food!” Torres said. Seeing Tim raise his eyebrows in disapproval, he asked, “What? They’ve already cracked that baby open. Might as well get some!”

…..

While the plan was for them to arrive at the hotel as a couple, they were to show up at the card table separately. The hope was for her appearance to get their target off his game (“I’ve seen ‘Casino Royale’," she said, shrugging at Gibbs' raised eyebrow.). But the goal was to get her close enough to get a bug on Paul Dejardins, the mid-level dealer Tobias was hoping would lead him to the bigger fish. 

_"Win some money, plant the bug and observe," Fornell directed. _

_"Why can't we get him in the hotel?" Gibbs asked. "Seems a hell of a lot simpler than doin' it at a poker table."_

_Though he understood the concern, Tobias explained the reasoning. "We think someone in the DEA is a rat; we think he's been the guy Dejardins has been answering to the whole time. We need proof. I want pictures."_

_"You're out of the feds, Fornell," Gibbs said. "Who's 'we'?"_

_He shrugged, anticipating the response. "The DEA."_

_Jack, too, had anticipated the Gibbsian dismay, based on Tobias' body language. Her gentle hand on his arm softened his ire. Just._

_"So let me get this straight." Gibbs looked at the ceiling, as if searching for the words. "You an' the Narc Squad want to fish out one of their own, but they don't want to get their hands caught in the mousetrap if it all goes south."_

_"Right," Tobias replied, not unaware of, but clearly ignoring, Gibbs' dangerous sarcasm. "That's where you two come in."_

_Jack gripped Gibbs' forearm, preventing the ensuing wrath. _

_"Some poker, some pictures. Sounds simple enough." She squeezed his hand and smiled at Tobias._

_He agreed with a nod. "Sure. I'll be in the room as part of the waitstaff, and McGee, Bishop and Torres will be in the van outside."_

_"Oh shit," Jack whispered under her breath. She turned to face Gibbs, even as he bit out a terse "What??" over her head. Taking some liberties she normally wouldn't get, she traced the stitching in his lapels and laid her palms flat against his chest. "You're going to look great in a tux."_

_That may not have been the right choice of words._

…..

But he _did_ look great in a tux, at least what she could see from behind. Gibbs' back was uncharacteristically facing the door, but by doing so, he was in a better position to gauge Dejardins’ face and reactions as people filtered in. If the DEA double agent walked into the room, Gibbs had hoped to know it based on the drug dealer's expression.

Sitting with his back to the door had one disadvantage besides the obvious vulnerability- he couldn't see her come in. On the other hand, if Dejardins’ reaction to Jack entering the room was anything to go by, it wouldn't take much to guess when the 2nd target came in. And with a tell like that, he was likely to lose a lot of money, so it was pretty much a win-win, despite what Fornell had instructed. Gibbs had just shrugged off some of the tension in his shoulders when he saw her.

She came from the side, and his peripheral did nothing to prepare him for the image of Special Agent Jacqueline Sloane in a floor length black gown that hugged her so tightly he thought the tailor should be arrested. Short bands curled around her shoulders and overlapped across her breasts in an 'x' pattern that ended at her hips, leaving a small swatch of her abdomen uncovered. A slit ran up the dress to her right thigh, exposing at least one of the legs he had privately appreciated on more than one occasion. Her hair was done up in an elaborate way that seemed to be comprised of a single pin. Normally, he preferred it down, but there was something in the way her neck was made available that sent heat south of his belt. She held a small black bag in her left hand, and his eyes went to the band on her ring finger and he wondered why it made her seem even sexier. If that was possible in a dress that was made to embody the word.

“Hey, babe,” she greeted, slipping her right hand around his shoulders and lightly kissing his lips. He had just come to his senses when the moment was over. “Sorry I’m late- getting into this dress was a bitch.” She winked and tapped him on the shoulder. “Whiskey?”

The glance down her cleavage as she bent to kiss him made his mouth go dry. “Yeah.”

“You are not staying?”

The voice across the table drew her attention. Paul Desjardins, 35, French-American. Some women might consider him good-looking with his dark hair and dark eyes, but there was something about him that Jack found hollow. However, with the target engaged, she smiled and played her part. 

“He doesn’t like it when I hang around the table,” she said, skimming her fingers along the nape of his neck and collar. “Says I distract him.”

Desjardins flashed a smile full of bright white teeth. “I can see why. Perhaps I should use that to my advantage.” He pulled out the chair beside him. “Please, come sit.” 

She felt Gibbs tense under her hand and she knew why- this wasn’t part of the plan. She was only meant to be a temporary distraction at the table, but a full-time back up at the bar. Her hesitation mirrored his guard, but only for a split-second. An opportunity presented itself and she was going to take it. Chastely pressing her lips against Gibbs’ temple for show and for assurance, she stood and demurely smiled. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

She avoided looking at Gibbs, knowing his face was full of storm and stone. Instead, she took the offered seat with a smile. “I hope I won’t make him lose too much money. I had my eye on a new ring.” Her left hand was held out as evidence.

“He looks really handsome," Bishop said. The pendant around Jack's neck was small but the images it sent back were crystal clear.

The pin on Gibbs' tux sent similar video. “'Handsome'?” Torres repeated. “Look at that dress! That’s Jack?” His whistle was soft and low. Gibbs’ responding bark of a cough made Torres grimace. 

As the senior agent, McGee felt it his responsibility to bring things back to order. “Can we focus more on the room and less on…” He snuck a peek at Jack. “On…”

“The dress,” Bishop and Torres said in unison.

“Right, the dress.”

Aware of how it sounded to those not in the van, McGee quickly added, “You look good, too, Boss."

Back in the room and unaware of the internal dialogue going on in Jack’s ear, Paul frowned at the ring. “Mmmm. So disappointing for such a beautiful woman. Allow me to perhaps let you win some of your husband’s money.” With a lifted finger, he signalled to the croupier, who immediately slid a chip stack in front of Jack.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she protested.

“Repay me when you win.”

“And what if I don’t win?”

His eyes were narrowed, his voice a leer. “Then you will find other ways to repay me, yes?”

The question gave no doubt as to the intent. Gibbs curled his fingers around the arms of his chair to prevent himself from wiping the smarmy look off the man’s face. He kept trying to remind himself they were undercover, that this was part of the deal, but it didn’t stop his teeth from clenching until his jaw ached.

Though the van made sure they were the farthest away from whatever fallout may occur, Torres still groaned, “This is so not going to go well.”

Another raised finger brought the waiter over; Jack turned away from the familiar face.

“Whiskey for the gentleman,” Paul said, indicating towards Gibbs, then returned his attention to Jack. “And you?”

“You know, I think I’ll also have a whiskey.” 

His eyes went up and down her body. “You are a very surprising woman. Three whiskeys,” he told Tobias who stood awkwardly in his white suit. “Now,” he said, looking around at his 5 table mates, eyes landing on Jack. “Shall we play?”

…..

“You have played before!”

Jack grinned at the man’s playful outburst as she reached to the centre of the table to collect her winnings. The three other players had long gone bust, leaving only Jack, Gibbs and Dejardins remaining. The Frenchman’s stack was dwindling and Gibbs’ chips were down to a single stack. Jack, on the other hand-

“I may have played once or twice,” she admitted with a wink.

“Still no sign of anyone else coming in,” McGee said through their earpieces. “Facial recognition program hasn’t picked up anyone that matches DEA agent profiles.”

That was their cue to keep Dejardins at the table; getting him was all well and good, but getting the dirty agent would be the real coup. The problem was, with Jack winning, the game ran the risk of ending too soon. She folded several times to return some of the money, but she could only do it so often without raising suspicion. And Gibbs was not budging an inch. Hand after hand, he would call or raise, only to see the River card bust him. Yet he continued. She tried to gauge what was going on in his head, but he refused to make eye contact.

If he were one to verbally articulate what was going on in his head, he’d flat out admit he could barely watch her flirt with Dejardins one minute longer. Her lingering touch on his arm, the way she would lean into his shoulder and laugh, the sly compliments all conspired to make the whiskey sour and the cards go cold. He knew they were undercover, that this ruse meant nothing, so he wondered why it bothered him so much that the woman only pretending to be his wife was engaging with another man. 

“Sir?” the croupier prompted.

Gibbs glanced at his 2 cards, sighed and folded.

…..

The problem was, not only could she only fold so many times to make it look genuine, she also had a competitive nature that was hard to curb. So when she saw the A-8-K reveal on the flop, she knew she couldn’t back out. She tossed in a low bet, hoping to tip off Gibbs to fold. His stack was precariously low, and while she relished the challenge, she didn’t want him out just yet, unwilling to be left at the table with Desjardins. Unfortunately, Gibbs’ ‘All in’ sealed their fates.

Despite it not being his turn, Desjardin immediately folded, softly throwing his cards down and shaking his head. “It is up to you, my darling,” he said. 

She did well to hide her glare sent in Gibbs’ direction. 

“Oooh, she’s pissed,” Nick chuckled, getting a punch in the shoulder from Bishop.

“Wish we could see the cards,” Tim groused.

Analyzing the body language between Jack and Gibbs, Bishop shook her head. “Pretty sure we’re going to see them soon enough.”

Everything in her told her to fold. For the sake of the operation, it was probably for the best. For the sake of the tempest that was clearly churning behind Gibbs’ eyes (what _was_ his problem?), it really _was_ for the best. Everything told her fold.

“I call.”

The trio in the van groaned. 

Gibbs’ jaw clenched and the rare reaction made Jack narrow her eyes across the table. (No, really, what _was_ his problem?) She counted out the chips and let the croupier confirm. They were added to the pile to his left and he signalled for the 2 players to reveal their cards. 

“Ace-Eight for the gentleman,” the croupier announced. “Ace-King for the lady. Currently, the lady has high hand with 2 pairs, aces and kings. The gentleman also has 2 pairs, aces and 8s.” He crisply laid out the Turn card face down before flipping it over. Everyone else around the table and in the van leaned forward ever so slightly. Gibbs and Jack remained unmoved.

“The Eight of Spades. The gentleman now holds the high hand- a full house. Eights over Aces.”

Word of the wager had gone around the room, and several people had crowded around the table to see the outcome. A quiet murmur was heard when the card was turned over that both Gibbs and Jack ignored.

Torres shook his head. “That’s it.”

“She’s got 1 more card,” Bishop whispered.

“Needs to be a King,” McGee said.

By going ‘All in’, there was no betting round, so the River card was placed down in the same way, then almost in slow motion, was revealed. Rather than look at the card, she watched him, watching her. 

“The King of Hearts,” the dealer said as if announcing the weather. “The lady wins with a full house, Kings over Aces.”

Those around the table murmured their approval at Lady Luck's arrival even as the 2 participants were silent. Only Desjardins spoke.

"I suspect you can now get whatever ring you wish."

The words reminded her of their true reason for being at the table, though it was hard to not watch Gibbs as he slid the chair back sharply and stood.

"Perhaps challenging his manhood was not so clever," Paul said, watching Gibbs walk away. 

"Sometimes we fight just to make up, " she said, holding on to the strands of their cover.

Desjardins laughed. "You are a beautiful lady. But I must go."

"Scan the room again," Gibbs' voice commanded through her earpiece. "He's seen someone."

"Or he just lost the majority of his chips and he's cashing out," Fornell countered.

"He didn’t flirt all night with Jack only to leave unless he's got a damn good reason. Scan the room."

Working through the conversation in her ear, Jack laid a hand on Desjardins' arm. "Are you sure you can't stay?" She slid a stack of chips equivalent to what he had given her. "I owe you."

He brushed off the repayment. "Should you not make it up to your husband, I'm in room 814." He stood and kissed her hand. 

Alone at the table, Jack looked at the croupier. "Guess I'm cashing out."

…..

"We can't find him," Tim lamented. "No one came into the room we haven't already checked."

"Check again," Gibbs barked.

Jack caught sight of Gibbs just as he turned the corner towards the elevator. "Where are you going?"

Gibbs didn’t break stride. "Room 814."

"Gibbs," Fornell warned. "Do _not_ engage. I don't have enough time left on this earth to fill out all the paperwork if an off-duty NCIS gets involved in a DEA case."

"Then ya shouldn'tve asked."

"Jack," Tobias begged.

She quickened her step, nearly running into a waiter. "Sorry," she immediately apologized, more to the foot she stepped on than the man. 

"No worries," he replied.

The obstruction was just enough to make her miss the elevator and she cursed. Despite knowing that jabbing the button repeatedly wouldn't make another elevator come any faster, she did it anyway. Her impatience travelled all the way down to her feet where her heel started tapping out Morse code for 'Hurry the fuck up.' She stopped mid 'f'. 

"The shoes," she whispered. "The shoes! Tim, the waiter I bumped into. Can you find him?"

"Sure," came the reply, "but we've already cleared the staff."

"He was wearing brown loafers," she said. "Every other waiter has black dress shoes."

"Coulda come through the kitchen," Tobias said. "Dammit! Gibbs,” he warned again.

‘Just doin’ some recon.”

“You don’t need to do ‘recon’,” Fornell mimicked. “Jack delivered and Desjardins is wired for sound. We got this.”

“I’m right behind him,” Jack assured, stepping onto the 8th floor where she saw Gibbs striding down the hall. “Hey,” she loud-whispered in an attempt to get his attention. When he didn’t stop, she sped up until she caught his elbow. “Hey!” The word was whispered again, but this time with a sharp edge. “What the hell are you doing?”

He looked through her. “My job.” His voice was just as cutting.

“Your job? We were supposed to make contact, bug him, and figure out who he was meeting. We did the first two; Tim's working on the third."

"Running his face now, Boss."

Her grip loosened on his arm, turning into something more gentle. "So what's the real reason?"

He turned his head and stared at the gaudy wallpaper that adorned the hallway. How could he say the truth out loud when it sounded ridiculous in his head? How could he say that seeing her flirt and laugh with their suspect brought out feelings he hadn't had in years? How having her in his arms, feeling her soft and warm and welcoming body pressed against his reignited emotions he'd thought were long dormant? But with the way she was looking at him, maybe he didn’t need to say it at all, and he knew she saw everything, because instead of challenging his silence, she gave him an out.

“It’s because I called with a Big Slick, isn’t it?” 

It was so unexpected that he let out a laugh, and he loved her even more. “That was a rookie move, Sloane. You’re better than that.”

“Rookie? You went all-in with a Dead Man’s Hand!”

“Got a hit, Boss,” Tim said, his voice laced with apology at having to break up their banter. “Carl McIntyre.” He paused to let the other shoe drop. “Fifteen years with the DEA.”

“Gibbs, do not engage!” Fornell repeated. “We’re on our way.”

“And so is he,” Jack whispered almost to herself when she saw the waiter come down the hall. To Gibbs, she said, “Kiss me.”

His blink was slow and confused. “What?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” 

Grabbing him by the lapels, she pulled him in hard, her mouth colliding with his. He grunted at the force and nearly asked her what the hell she was doing, until her first whisper finally hit his brain and he mentally head slapped himself. 

He also silently thanked his lucky stars, because whatever tension was in the hotel room that morning, whatever apprehension he had for their ‘roles’, whatever uncertainty he had about his feelings disappeared under her soft but determined mouth. His hands took on the same role, pulling her to him gently but with purpose. 

Nick covered the microphone. “Should we be watching this?”

“What are we watching?” Bishop whispered. “The cameras are too close together.”

“Yeah, because their bodies are like this.” Nick pressed his hands together and his eyebrow wiggle said the rest.

“Stop it,” Tim hissed. “We’re supposed to be guarding, not gossiping.”

On cue, Gibbs’ voice cut through the van. “He’s goin’ into 814. Can you give us the feed?”

“Right on it, Boss.”

A few clicks and the bug that Jack had planted on Desjardins came through everyone’s ears. Gibbs had turned his head just enough to watch McIntyre enter the room, but not enough to completely lose contact with Jack’s mouth. Under the pretense of the adrenaline that always came with an undercover job, the two of them hadn’t moved, pretending to have lost sight of the position they were in, even if her lips were still pressed against the corner of his mouth. 

“-to lay low.”

“I played some cards. It was nothing.” They all recognized the speaker as the Frenchman.

“Nothing? You got made.”

There was a snort, then a puzzled, “‘Made’?”

“The man you were playing against? He’s a cop.”

Jack’s hand tightened around Gibbs’ shoulder. Though she didn’t say a word, he whispered a soothing shush, subconsciously shielding her with his body. 

“Did he recognize you when he walked by?” Jack whispered.

“He made eye contact,” Gibbs said. “Didn’t flinch.”

“You carrying?”

“He’d better not be!” Tobias barked.

Gibbs looked at her and shook his head, cursing the fact that for once, he had listened to Fornell during their briefing. She knew the answer from his expression. Brown eyes held blue and while he was caught in her gaze, she reached for his hand that was still resting on her hip. Slowly, she placed it on the inside of her thigh, holding in the sigh when his fingers touched her skin. 

“Jack-”

She chuckled lightly and murmured the same ‘Shush’ he had given her. His Marine discipline held on by a thread, betrayed by the breath he couldn’t seem to pull from his lungs. Curling her fingers around his wrist, she guided his hand higher but let him lead the rest of the way. Calloused fingertips scratched promises along the soft skin and she couldn’t resist brushing her mouth across his. She knew exactly when he reached his goal because she felt his chuckle vibrate against her lips. The holster was small, but the gun would do the trick. He whispered something in her ear that he knew the microphone wouldn’t pick up, and the heat from her blush warmed his cheek.

Swallowing audibly, she managed to force out a “What now?”

Considering he had his body pressed flush against hers and his hand up her dress, Gibbs couldn’t be faulted for wondering if she was referring to them or the case. Fortunately, Tobias whispered in the earpiece even though he was nowhere near the duo. 

“Now nothing. We’ve got a team waiting downstairs to nail this guy but we need to catch him red-handed. Let him go, Gibbs. Do me this one favour and get the hell out of there?”

Whatever decision Gibbs was about to make was nipped in the bud by the distinctive sound of a silencer from the room. 

“Shit!” Torres swore and was halfway out of the van before Bishop grabbed him.

“We’re not supposed to be here,” she reminded him. 

Fornell backed her up. “We got this, Nick.” His laboured breath was followed by “Why’d I take the stairs? And why is Gibbs not answering??"

Back on the 8th floor, Jack focused solely on Gibbs, looking at him with an expression that asked what he planned on doing and told him she'd be right there with him. A plan was formulating behind crystal blue eyes, but the sound of the door handle turning made the choice for them. Instinctively, he shifted his body to prepare for the inevitable; the second McIntyre made eye contact with Gibbs, the die was cast and everything seemed to unfold in slow motion.

Not having his gun at the ready was the agent's downfall. That, and the slight distraction caused by Fornell's appearance at the end of the hall. The emergency exit door banged like a gunshot, making McIntyre's eyes shift for a split second. That was all Gibbs needed. Turning away from Jack just enough to get a bead on his target, he pulled the trigger in succession, without hesitation. The man dropped to the floor and the hallway became quiet once more.

Until Fornell moaned, "Didja have to kill him, Gibbs?"

"Everybody okay?" Tim asked

Ignoring the jibe, Gibbs turned to Jack. "Okay?" When she nodded, he answered, "We're good, McGee."

"_You_ might be good," Fornell said, using the moment between Gibbs and Jack to yank the gun out of his hand, "but now I gotta dead suspect."

Jack looked around Gibbs' shoulder. "Two, actually."

Reminded of the dead guy in the room, he nodded a feigned thanks. "Two, actually." He lifted the small hand gun that had looked like a toy in Gibbs' big hands. "I thought you weren't packing?"

"I wasn't," Gibbs replied, leaving the rest to Fornell's imagination. 

Tobias gave Jack a once over that made her smirk. "I'd like to discuss exactly where you hid it, but this one might get cranky." He thumbed at Gibbs. "Besides, I gotta cover his mess."

"My mess?'

Jack laid a hand on Gibbs' chest. "Why don't we take advantage of the fact checkout's not until 4?" His quirked eyebrow and Tobias' snort brought heat to her face. "Oh my God, you two are 12; I meant there was still whiskey in the bar fridge." The expressions of the 2 men didn't change. "Whatever. Tim, Ellie, Bishop? Why don't I treat you to dinner? I seem to recall winning a lot of money at the poker table."

“For real?” Nick asked.

“For real. The dark chocolate mousse is to _die_ for.”

Fornell jerked his head at Gibbs."You really go all-in on an Ace-8?" 

"You really gone 8 weeks without winning poker night?"

"All right, all right." He held up his hands defensively. "Get going before the LEOs show up."

Gibbs had no problem leaving him to the locals, but he asked, "What's the cover?"

Tobias shrugged. "I'll wipe this down and put it on the frenchie. Make it look like it was a case of he shot/he shot. I'll make sure the gun 'accidentally' goes missing and get it back to you as soon as I can, Jack."

"No need. The serial numbers are filed off." The two men looked at her again, this time with twinned surprise. “What? You think I’m bringing a registered weapon to a gig we’re not even supposed to be at? Amateurs.”

“I’d kiss you,” Tobias said, “but again, Mr. Cranky’s here.”

“There’s going to be three dead guys if he’s not careful,” Bishop mused out loud.

Jack raised herself on her toes and planted a chaste kiss on Gibbs’ cheek. “C’mon, Cowboy. I need to get out of this dress.” The words barely left her mouth when she followed them with, “Just stop. Both of you.”

…..

**Epilogue**

True to her word, she treated the gang to dinner and laughed at how much they ooh’d and ahh’d over the place. It was good to get out with them, to take a break from work and just enjoy each other’s company. But now, an hour after Tim dragged Nick and Ellie away, Jack was enjoying the company of one. She raised her whiskey to him. 

“We did good,” she said.

Gibbs nodded and touched her glass with his. “We did good.”

She let the liquid amber burn a smooth trail down her throat, murmuring her pleasure. With a glance around the dining room, she asked, “What now?”

It was the same question she had asked in the hallway, when his fingers had trailed up her thigh. Offering a nonchalant shrug, he asked, ‘Ya got any other weapons you’re hidin’?”

A laugh danced across her lips. “Well, Tobias did pay for an extra night as his way of saying ‘thanks’. So you have plenty of time to find out.” 

If she wondered if she’d gone just a bit too far, the way his blue eyes rolled into gray relieved her of any concern. Downing the rest of his drink, he put the tumbler on the table and leaned forward. “C’mon, Sloane. Let’s go make some snow angels.”

…..

-end


End file.
